Exactly six years ago I heard a reawakening Peking . .  as I wrote here, I felt a pulse, heard a breath.  A warm flow began to within that shell too cold and too long. . .  Peking in the Upper Bay was calling on buoyancy it once had here south of South America.  I allowed myself to feel a little hope. Possibly this trip to the dry dock would be a preliminary to a miraculous rebirth.

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But too much time has passed again . . . momentum has dissipated.  Undercurrents in this article suggest the end is starting to be acknowledged.

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but IMHO, this is alright.  Mortality stalks all of us.  So here’s my proposal:  let those who hold her destiny organize a decommissioning, a wake.  She arrived–I imagine–with some fanfare if not an official commissioning for her imagined new role in 1975 . . . first at the Narrows here and then–in November 1975, according to A Dream of Tall Ships–from the shipyard up to the East River.  How about a party now . . . as then.  And then . .  reef her, ceremoniously.

Opinions are entirely my own.